


Captain Jack's Hypervodka

by fogsblue



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsblue/pseuds/fogsblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose seems to acquire an interesting t-shirt. It has an even more interesting affect on the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Jack's Hypervodka

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this [t-shirt design](http://media.dayoftheshirt.com/images/shirts/oTLgFFkXGCWF/teefury_original-hypervodka_1404965839.full.png) and the vodka I was drinking.

The first time he’d seen the shirt, it’d been in the 53rd century, in a pub after a busy day with the Slitheen. At the time, the Doctor had barely noticed it, just seen it in passing and decided a drink of hypervodka would be good. 

The second time was after everybody had lived through another day of the London Blitz. And that time, he had actually paid attention. He’d let the TARDIS’ new passenger pick the destination to celebrate, they had landed back in the 38th century, four planets over from Earth, in a loud, crowded and apparently stylish club. And there, on each of the three bartenders, quickly and efficiently serving drinks, was the shirt.

It was just a t-shirt. But a t-shirt for ‘Captain Jack’s Original Hypervodka’. It featured Jack Harkness in a military greatcoat, one foot resting on a hand in a jar, standing in front of Big Ben. The Doctor didn’t like it at all. And at the sight of it, he’d turned around, quickly finding his two human companions. Catching their attention, he’d made it apparent they needed to leave. Right then. He’d muttered something about timelines and unsafe alcohol and anything would convince them they had to leave that instant. Thankfully, they’d been easily convinced and let him lead them back to the TARDIS and away from the century and planet.

At the time, the Doctor had assumed he wouldn’t see that shirt again for a while. If it was up to him, never again. 

But, as he stares at Rose, walking past the console room on her way to the kitchen, his jaw drops. Shutting his mouth, he narrows his eyes and stalks after her. She’s leaning against the bench as he enters, humming quietly and waiting for the kettle to boil. And wearing that damn shirt!

“Rose,” he says, “Where’d ya get the shirt?”

She blinks, apparently lost in her own world and says, “At that club last week, before we dropped Jack off for his holiday. I saw it, and just had to get one, luckily, when I explained I knew Jack, they were happy to give me one.” She grins. “Brilliant, yeah?”

“Fan-tas-tic,” the Doctor mutters, and Rose smirks at his sarcasm. Huffing, he crosses his arms, asks for a cup of tea and heads back to the console room, plotting ways for Rose to lose the shirt.

It begins with simply sneaking into her room when she showers and stealing it. He hides it in the wardrobe the first time. But a few days later, Rose is wearing it again. So he buries it in his own room, knowing she isn’t the snooping type. He frowns when the following day, she wears it. All day. All day! How he managed not to rip it off her, he doesn’t know. But he tries again. Stealing the shirt once more, he throws it out the TARDIS doors while Rose sleeps.

The Doctor whistles, climbing back under the console, tinkering away happily until he hears the shuffle of Rose’s feet on the way to the kitchen in the morning, relative time. Wanting to celebrate his victory against that bloody shirt, he jumps up, following her. As he nears the kitchen, he can hear her humming once more, and the sound makes him smile. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing, hearing, enjoying Rose being happy.

Stepping into the kitchen, his happiness fades instantly and he growls, “That bloody shirt!”

Rose rubs her eyes, looking sleepy before she blearily looks down at her shirt and back up at him. “What ‘bout it?”

“How many times do I have to get rid of it?” he asks, not whining. He doesn’t whine. 

Looking a little more awake, Rose raises an eyebrow. “Get rid of it, Doctor?”

“Ah,” he says, quickly crossing his arms. “I mean, can’t have the ‘captain’ seeing you in that. Pretty sure that hasn’t happened for him yet.”

“Well then, good thing he’s not back for another few days then,” she says happily, turning to pour her tea.

Turning to leave the room, he mutters angrily under his breath about annoying captains and how they’re always finding places they shouldn’t be, like on his Rose. He’s sure he hears Rose, giggling behind him, but when he turns to face her she’s simply sipping her tea, looking relaxed and content. He stares for a moment, but she barely acknowledges him and he sighs, leaving the kitchen.

His plans to steal the shirt are foiled when he discovers, that unlike normal, Rose has taken it into the bathroom with her this time. He sits on the end of the bed, wondering how wrong it would be to check if she has more than one. When her bathroom door begins opening, he stands, rushing to get out of her room before she catches him. 

The Doctor grabs the handle as Rose asks, “Doctor, what’re you doing?”

Shutting his eyes, he turns around and taking a deep breath, trying to work out a good excuse, he opens them again. Instead of his carefully planned excuse, he yells, “Not again!”

Rose’s hand flies up to her mouth, and he panics, “Rose, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to yell at ya! I just, that shirt, and so-called ‘Captain’ Jack and it’s like you’re wearing him, or his clothes and I don’t like it!” He mutters. “Should be mine.” Stepping closer, he promises, “I won’t yell…” 

He trails off as Rose drops her hands, clutching her stomach as she doubles over laughing. At him. Moving closer again, he opens his mouth, then shuts it, frowning. “Rose?”

“Sorry, Doctor,” she says, trying to stop giggling. “But it keeps appearing on my bed every morning, and it’s really comfy.” Rose bites her lip and steps up to him. He can see the cheeky glint in her eye as she rest her hands on his chest. “Didn’t realise it’d bother you so much, seeing Jack, on my boobs.”

He can feel his ear heating up as his blush spreads. Rose smirks at him, tongue poking out between her teeth. Oh. _Oh_. She knows exactly what that shirt is doing to him. Well, if she’s playing like that. Before another second passes, he wraps his arms around her waist and drops his head, chasing her tongue with his. 

The kiss isn’t a war, it’s a game, he chases and she retreats, coaxing him in deeper. And when he’s in deep, his tongue learning her mouth, she pounces, pushing back and taking control. For seconds or hours they play, but eventually she pulls back to catch her breath, chest heaving. He watches her breasts rising and falling under that damn shirt and growls. 

“No more Jack anywhere near our breasts, Rose,” he says as he slips his hand under the shirt and pulling it up. She raises her arms, helping him pull it up and over her head. He drops it to the floor beside her and stares at her soft, uncovered skin. “Gorgeous.”

Rose doesn’t say anything, just ducks her head, blushing. He runs his finger under her chin and tilts her face back up, dropping a soft kiss on her lips. When they break apart once again, she’s flushed and smiling and he feels like the universe could end and he won’t care, if he can just keep her, happy and his. She pushes at his jumper and getting the hint, he quickly strips it off. Turning towards the bed, he guided her backwards and down onto it. He waits for a moment, enjoying the sight of her laid out like an offering and he is thankful.

She squirms under his gaze and finally asks, “Coming, Doctor?” 

“Not yet, Rose,” he says, as he starts stripping the rest of his clothes. 

When he seems to be drawing out the removal of his clothes, she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Should get Jack on all my clothes, bet you’d move faster that way.”

If it wasn’t for the fact Rose seems impressed with his speed, he might be embarrassed about how fast he manages to lose his remaining clothes. And how fast he makes the rest of hers disappear. Crawling over her, he trails his hands up her and over her ribs, moving up to cup her breasts, whispering, “Mine.”

She nods, pulling him down so she can kiss him. Trailing his lips across her cheeks, and down her neck, he slips a hand between them. He drags it down over her breasts, sliding along her stomach, enjoying the twitching of her muscles, the hitches in her breath. he moves it down, through the curls and slips his fingers over her clit, through her wet heat and groans at the feel. She’s so responsive to every touch and he could spend hours learning each of her reactions, every noise she makes, but Rose slips her hand between them, stroking his length and his plans fly out the window, lost in the need to be inside her. Now.

Looking down at her, he opens his mouth to ask her, if she’s ready, if he can, prepared to beg if he needs to, but before more than her name can escape him, she’s placing him at her entrance and raising her hips. It’s a plea, or a command, he doesn’t care, he follows her lead and pushes forwards, sliding into her, not stopping until he’s buried as deeply inside her as he can be.

Rose bites his shoulder and he pulls back, thrusting forward, hard and fast and it feels so good. She releases him and licks up to his ear, whispering, “Doctor, fuck me.”

The Doctor groans at the words and withdraws, plunging forwards, letting out a low growl. Rose’s hands slip down his back, grabbing at his arse as her legs wrap around him and slipping deeper, he gives in and sets up a rhythm. It’s steady, each time he pulls back, he pushed back into her roughly, her hips pushing up to meet his each time. For a time, the push and pull, each hard thrust sending her higher, until he can feel her muscles fluttering around his cock, until she’s begging him to move faster. He does, his steady pace lost in favour of chasing their release.

One of her hands slips of his back, sliding down to where they’re joined and he can feel her fingers as she rubs at her clit. The sight of her, lost in pleasure, with him is enough to make him thrust harder and it takes only a few swipes of her fingers and Rose is clenching around him, mouth open wide as she moans his name. The sound and feel of her, lost in her orgasm has him coming too, spilling himself deep inside her.

He collapses forwards and rolls them onto their sides. He’s grinning like an idiot, but as Rose blinks happily, tiredly back at him, he can’t bring himself to care. He kisses her softly, on her lips, her cheeks, her nose, wherever he can reach, happy to be here. To be the one holding her. To be the one she’s chosen. To be the one covering her… “The shirt!”

Rose raises an eyebrow at him, about to say something and he captures her lips with his, cutting her off. As soon as he’s sure his legs can hold him again, he jumps up from the bed, grabbing that damn shirt and stating, “Can’t leave this around. Don’t want to give Jack ideas. Back in a mo’!”

He’s gone from Rose’s room less than a minute, throwing the shirt back into the Vortex and warning the TARDIS to leave it there. She hums, and it’s not really agreement, but there’s humour and he can’t be bothered caring, because Rose is waiting and he needs to get back to her.

After a few weeks, he forgets about the shirt, assuming it’s gone for good and won’t be seen again. Not that it’s disappearance stops him stealing other shirts of Rose’s. She’s generally very happy to let him steal them, though, maybe it helps that they never make it further than the floor. He’s not a great thief apparently, but she doesn’t seem to mind too much. 

By the time he discovers he’s wrong about the shirt being permanently gone, he’s a new man and Rose has been cautiously circling him for weeks, trying to work out where they stand. It’s almost a month past Christmas when she shuffles out into the console room, asking if he wants tea. He pokes out from underneath the console, about to reply but all that comes out is a growl. The shirt is back and, looking up at Rose properly, so is the tongue between her teeth and the cheeky glint in her eyes.

She bites her lip and heads to the kitchen, she doesn’t make it more than a few metres before he slips a pinstriped arm around the waist and works on stealing that bloody shirt once more.


End file.
